“Kanthapura” -an Appreciation

“KANTHAPURA”–AN APPRECIATION

N. MADHAVA RAO, M.A.
S. R. A. S. College, Kothagudem

Raja Rao, the most powerful novelist of the trio, R. K. Narayan, Mulk Raj Anand and he himself, is India’s modern writer of classics. In fact he foreshadows, it appears, other writers of novel, by virtue of his legend-oriented genius. While many of the writers indulge in holding India’s setting and tradition to ransom, with their satire and wit, Raja Rao places before us a formidable image of India which knows not the defeat, ridicule, cowardice and modern scepticism. The greatest writer, be it playwright, poet or novelist, never takes to deliberate art–of interpretation, criticism and suggestion. Raja Rao, as a great writer, has nothing on his mind, e.g., the problems of the modern world least in Kanthapura. He devotes himself to an epoch of all times which grows enchantingly, an ingenious work of art. Well, Raja Rao is a legend, no, the epic writer.

Kanthapura is a legend. As the writer comes out in his foreword so is the yarn of the novel. It has a village with a rich Sthalapurana or legendary history of its own. Kanthapura, the village, is high on the ghats up the steep mountains that face the cool Arabian seas. The setting is not that of a modern novelist’s description. The place has its guardian angels and protecting Goddess Kenchamma. The idyllic scene is nowhere dreamy as in reference to the play of Goddesses, e.g., the Goddess of river, the Himavathy, plays with the Goddess of the hill throughout night as Kenchamma is the mother of the river. Raja Rao tells us not the superstitious nature of the Hindus but describes the scene of the epic. We fail to understand if we concede that Raja Rao is critical of superstition. It is a legend’s part.

The theme, as of a legend, is one of cultural set-up. It is cosmic struggle between transcendent righteousness and ever proud illusion of evil. The former is transcendent as it has resilient power to crusade vain powers of evil from times immemorial. The latter has proud illusion as it is its vulnerable, ever defeated and never abandoned nature. Both the powers are identified with the Indian who is a Satyagrahi and the Red man who is a powerful coward. This explains why Moorthy or the Mahatma or Rangamma is not seen from the middle of the battle. The powers are the representatives of their nation’s culture. Cultural ground adds to the theme what interest the anachronistic struggle for freedom removes. Had it been merely the point of freedom to be discussed through these chapters, it would have lost its relevance and claim to epical nature though not exactly epic in structure.

Moorthy is not the man of modern novel. He is “a very prince,” “our Rama” and “a small mountain.” He is the prince of visions, of God-fearing and of an order called Gandhism. He, like Spenser’s knight, sets out on the look out for truth. What is Gandhism? Oh! it is three-eyed–self-purification, Hindu-Muslim unity and Khaddar. Who is a Satyagrahi? An upholder of truth and non-violence. Does he seek anybody’s help in crisis? He needs no help externally. Everything depends upon his spirit. What is death to him? It is a promoter of his mission. This is Moorthy of corner house in “Kanthapura.”

Moorthy, an allegory of invincible spirit, commands his soul to withstand an endless discord. His three-day fast is a preparation of a grand hero to conquer vice, a sort of Redcross knight’s atoning in the House of Holiness (Canto X Book I ‘Faerig Queene’)–where he “merged deeper into himself and radiance powered out of his body and he seemed to rise sheer into air!” He catches a little of that primordial radiance.

What is evil? Is it in Bhatta who has thirty-seven acres of wet land and ninety acres of dry land? He is not in two minds to collect 20 per cent of interest. Like the traditional evil, he has a clean black record of internal crime and perfidy (hates Gandhism, manages haunted tamarind tree field, banks upon Kotyahali widow’s affair and wife of Sidda’s sickness always lisps to gain silvers on obsequial occasions, and marries second time to add to his countless riches). But he is not the one our epic needs. It does not want a Machiavelli or a dissatisfied Socrates or speculative Hamlet to offer climax. It wants that Dragon the Red man. It is the vice to battle with neither it is Bade Khan, the policeman, whose feet must be licked, nor waterfall Venkamma who is ready to excommunicate anybody, including herself by mistake.

Rangamma is the oracle, the Cassandra of Kanthapura. She tells the people of plants that weep, of the stars above, of the universe, of God, of countries beyond Lahore, Kabul, Bhukara,  of Gandhi and of Dharma. She is the soothe sayer of Caesar, like Moorthy and later a Panthselia leading her tiny brigade of women soldiers in the great battle.

How is the battle? It is a war between a coward of enormous physical strength (Red man) and Satyagrahi of oceanic spiritua1 strength; between the man who robs (cardamons and coffee) and the spirit that tries to persuade the robber against his crime. Like Rabindranath Tagore’s “Gitanjali” the Satyagrahi wants freedom to move into an endless world of truth. Started with lathi charge after three-day fast of Moorthy, the battle is waged through-out with no suggestion of a possible end. It is not a physical catastrophe. It is a spiritual battle captained by the Mahatma. Kenchamma, the Goddess, Siva the three-eyed, and Narayan, the Lord of Heaven, shall come to save the seeker of truth. The battle as it progresses takes obvious spiritual turn. Borannatoddy episode makes Satyagrahis feel as if they walked through fire in harvest time. Or in the picketing before Skeffington Coffee Estate the Satyagrahi feels a “secret exaltation” even though Rangamma is kicked in stomach or Ratna slapped to sleep.

The battle or struggle for freedom sweeps the epic to cosmic significance. The war has different episodes like that of an epic. It has true beginning in the shrieks of Parish women in Non-co-operation Movement in the main street of Kanthapura. This episode ends with Puttamma’s unhappy event. For the occasion everybody is lost. The steadfast desire to conquer vice meets suspicion – “and we think neither of Puttamma nor Seethamma nor Moorthy nor the Mahatma, but the whole world seems a jungle in battle, trees rumbling, lions roaring, jackals wailing, parrots piping, panthers screeching …… if mother Earth had opened herself and said, “Come in children.” How real the epical battle is! Radhamma delivers there! Nature’s violence selects the universal violence.

The first one is called Satyagraha movement (lathi charge after fast). The last episode like the second one has no hero but heroes. An epic has many–the city boys and women (of Bombay)–and of Kanthapura, nearly three thousand people. Rachappa, Rudrappa, Ammayya and Siddayya fall down in service to truth.

The legend has finery and primaeval simplicity. Ramakrishnaiah, the very learned father explains Maya-Vada; Jayaramachar chants the story of God. Karthik comes with the glow of light and unpressed footsteps of the wandering gods, with lights from clay trays and red lights from copper stands and diamond lights from bowers of entrance leaves; and Visakha with fine, first footing rain, running cattle, Rohini Star and yoking of new bulls to the plough, slides always in Kanthapura.

Language and style of the novel differ from others. As the writer suggests, we find a new type of language as ideal and different from King’s English as Irish, or Americans’ English. The writer succeeds in creating his own style. First it must, in general, be capable of “expressing sublime thoughts,” e.g., “He merged deeper into himself and radiance poured out of his body and he seemed to rise sheer into air.” Next, at times it should be ideal and fleeing as to delve into our subconsciousness, e.g., “...and he too entered the temple like a sparrow, and he sat, on the handle of the candelabra, and….floods suddenly swept in from all the doorways of the temple…..”

Then it should be suggestive of the particular culture and nation, e.g., “They say the Mahatma will go to the Red man’s country and will get us Swaraj. He will bring us Swaraj, the Mahatma. And we shall be happy. And Rama will come from exile, and Sita will be with him, for Ravana will be slain and Sita freed, and he will come with Sita on his right in a chariot of the air ...” Nothing but Indian culture and struggling spirit for freedom are reflected here.

The writer adds element of song to make us aware of the element of music which is a part of soul. Song is always an outlet for tragic or cosmic feeling except in the first few pages, e.g., Rangamma and Santamma and Ramakrishnaiah are troubled and silent; from the lit front house comes the “Rock, Rock,” which being joyous and in contrast to character’s burdened heart, brings out inner human frailty.

Song is highly scripture-like sometimes. It touches the heights of heaven.

Laugh, laugh, laugh away
The King of Heaven is coming,
He, the King of Heaven is coming,
Say Bodhayya.

But this legend has special refrain apart from all these pieces of music–that of nation and the Mahatma which continuously pours in adamant moral strength and unity, e.g., ‘Vande Mataram,’ ‘Mahatma Gandhikijai’, ‘Inquilab Zindabad’.

It is a happy feature that when the freedom struggle received many times treat in different ways we find it here neither anachronistic nor over-indulgent but satisfying aesthetic instinct and demand of relevance. Yes, Raja Rao is a legend, no, an epic writer.